Reunited
by sodacreamorange
Summary: They hadn't seen each other since childhood, but neither of them had forgotten what they once shared. One-shot for timebird84's Phalentine's Day challenge. E/C


It had been so long ago, but neither of them forgot it.

He was both a prodigy and a spectacle. At only twelve years, he was already a well-established musician, traveling and playing as a soloist for professional orchestras under the management of his mother. It wasn't so much the scrap of fabric that covered the entirety of his face that had caught her attention, it was his playing. Even her father's own violin could not make her feel the way she had that day, seated beside her mother in the front row.

She turned to her mother as the applause began to subside, her eyes bright with every color of emotion. "How can someone play like that, Mama? How can God bless someone so generously?"

Her mother laughed, whispering low as the boy left the stage. "He works in mysterious ways, my dear."

They always stayed after the show, had special access backstage due to her father's position as Concert Master. Christine would usually run around with the other orchestra children out in the unoccupied halls of the theatre where they could not disturb the cleanup process. But as Christine navigated the many halls to find where they would usually meet up and decide between playing house, hide-and-seek, or tag, she was pulled away and down another hall towards a serenade of strings, the same ones that had nearly pulled tears from her eyes only a few moments before.

He stood in a barely-furnished dressing room, his violin case open wide on the floor at his feet and what she presumed was his stuff strewn about. The song ended on a dissonant note, one that panged her heart.

"You're amazing," she said in awe. The boy spun around towards her, the cloth on his face whipping with the movement of air beneath it but not so much so she could see his face.

"Why are you here?" It was the first time she heard him speak, and she was just as smitten by it as she was by his playing.

"I-I heard your playing from down the hall. It's so beautiful, I just… I had to get closer so I could hear it better." The boy did not budge from his position, only the rise and fall of his chest indicating that time had not stopped.

"Thank you," he whispered, and bent to place his violin back in its case.

"You have a gift, you know? God has blessed you graciously."

The boy snickered at her comment and closed his case, locking it tight. "I cannot say I have heard that before, but it humbles me that you would say such a thing."

"I say it because it's true."

The boy stood once more and she realized how tall he was compared to her. She had taken note that he was only three years older than her when the maestro had introduced him to the audience. Yet still, he was a skyscraper and she felt like a three-story building underneath him. "If it is what you believe," he replied shrugging.

Christine stepped towards him. "Why are you still wearing that silly thing? The show is over, you may take it off now."

He stepped back as her hand started lifting toward him. "It is for the best of us both. Trust me," he replied urgently, lifting his arm to block hers in case she continued forward.

Christine stopped as she saw the fear in his posture. "What do you mean?"

"You do not want to see. Not even Mother wants to see. She cannot hug me without my covering."

She felt her heart drop at his words and imagined her own mom refusing to hug her. "I could," Christine said confidently. "I could hug you without it." She stepped forward once more and he stepped back, bumping into the edge of a table behind him.

"Please," he begged, shaking. "Please don't."

It hurt her to see him so afraid. She could not understand why he acted so, but she backed down anyway, her shoulders hunching with disappointment. She allowed him to relax and regain his trust before she spoke again. "Would you like a tour of the theatre? I have a super secret spot I like to go to sometimes."

"I probably shouldn't leave here," he argued. "Mother may be coming back anytime soon."

"It will be quick! It's not far," she promised. The boy seemed hesitant still, but he conceded.

Christine took him down several halls until they were backstage, a few people still running around and packing up while others stood talking. He climbed up after her as she took hold of a ladder out of sight.

"Are you sure we're allowed to be up here?" asked the boy in a whisper.

Christine was smiling ahead of him. "It doesn't matter, we're on an adventure!"

"An adventure? I thought you said you already knew where this place was."

"It's still an adventure," she giggled.

They stood on the rafters, looking down at the unsuspecting people below. Two children laughing amongst one another as they devised a plan to conquer the theatre, taking it from the adults and transforming it into their own kingdom for music.

"What's your name?" Christine asked, realizing she never asked it and only knew the boy beside her as the "Blindfolded Violinist".

"Erik," he replied. "What's yours?"

"Christine."

"Christine," he repeated. "What a beautiful name."

"I like yours as well," she retorted.

Erik laughed, watching a man carry off two music stands through the thin fabric of his cloth. "Do you ever feel like a ghost sometimes, Christine?"

She looked over at him as he held the bottom of the cloth to his chin. "What do you mean?"

"Like, do you ever feel that it doesn't matter what you do, that the world continues moving on around you without seeing you, without stopping to listen?" Christine still did not understand entirely what he meant and he sighed when there was no reply. "I feel invisible, Christine. Every day I feel like no one cares about me. Not even my own mother will stop to listen."

"I've stopped," she said defensively. "And I care too."

He turned to her and for the first time, she wished she could truly see what was underneath the cloth. "I like you, Christine. Are we friends now?"

Christine smiled. "Of course! I always love making new friends."

Erik's chest dropped with the release of a withheld breath. "I'm glad."

They took to a corner near the ladder they'd climbed earlier and sat talking. Christine wasn't used to such a thing with friends she'd made. They'd talk about things, but that was usually over dolls or schoolwork. She liked it though. It was a fresh change of things.

"Do you play any instruments?" Erik asked after Christine talked about her father being first chair.

"No, but I like to sing."

He sat up, intrigued. "Can you sing something for me?"

Christine smiled, honored he would ask such a thing from her. It made her nervous when she thought about it for a second, a musician as talented as him listening in and judging her voice, but she tossed the thought to the side and closed her eyes as she began:

 _Our love's a complex vintage wine_

 _All rotted leaves and lemon rind_

 _I'd spit you out but now you're mine_

Erik leaned towards her, desiring to hear her voice better. Never had he heard anything more beautiful. He was thankful for the cloth on his face because he was sure he looked horrid, eyes wide as saucers and mouth agape in awe of her natural instrument. His hand found her cheek after the chorus and she stopped, shocked by the sudden chillness of his hand. She stared into the space of his cloth where she supposed his eyes would be.

"I may be blessed by God, but _you_ are an angel."

Christine blushed under his palm. "Have you ever kissed anyone before, Erik?"

He removed his hand suddenly as if he were burned by her question. "I have not. No one. Never."

Christine smiled bashfully, her little blonde brows furrowing. "Would you like to be?"

Erik took his time to reply. "Would it mean I have to take off _this_?" he asked, gesturing to his cloth.

Christine shook her head. "But you would have to lift it a bit."

Erik lifted a shaking hand to the edge of his cloth, pressing it against his face as he revealed his misshapen lips and chin. It was then that Christine finally understood why he wore the cloth, realizing something was wrong with his face. It did not discourage her, however, and she sat up, leaning forward and pressing her lips to his for a brief moment before pulling away with a small pluck. He did not react, his hand still shaking for a moment before dropping.

"Thank you, Christine. I will never forget this friendship we share."

Christine smiled and stood, reaching out a hand to help him stand as well.

That was fifteen years ago. Fifteen years since her first kiss, fifteen years since she heard that violin which haunted her dreams. She thought maybe it was not real, that that day had never happened, some made up childhood memory like the ones she had learned about in her psychology class. A dream perhaps.

That was until her father had passed. She had not been back to see the orchestra since. It was painful listening to orchestrations, beautiful classics that were too close to home. It even pained her to just look upon her father's old violin case. Yet still, she could not part with it.

It wasn't until she stumbled upon an advertisement on social media for a concert celebrating Mozart's birthday that she had changed her mind. She hesitated at checkout, a ticket for one. The same seat she had always occupied as a child. But this time it would not be her father she'd be watching, and instead of her mother, a stranger would take the seat beside her.

The theatre was as lovely as she remembered it. High ceiling, excellent acoustics. If she could live in a palace, she wished it might look close to what stood around her.

The concert was off to a start and she wondered why she had ever stopped attending. She missed it; the music, the glamor. It was all so wonderful.

And then he was there. A mysterious, dark man in a full black mask laced with gold. She hadn't quite recognized him as he took the stage with no introduction. His playing was introduction enough, the first few notes singing his name into her ears. She opened her program hurriedly, her eyes immediately falling upon his name. Her heart fluttered immediately and melted with the notes of his violin. Erik. Him. The one she had often wondered if ever existed. He was real, and his music even more.

She snuck backstage afterwards, no one noticing her slip down the hallway and towards that sweet sound of strings once more. She paused before the closed door, holding her ear against the wood and closing her eyes as she smiled sadly at the sound of the melody, a song she did not recognize. It was beautiful and for the first time in a long time, she felt. She began to wonder if perhaps she had never truly felt emotion before. The song ended and she leaned against the door smiling, feeling as if she had been fulfilled.

The door opened suddenly, quickly, and she fell into the room, falling against the man she had only known once as a child. He was stunned by her unannounced presence and stumbled back, falling as well and enclosing her in his arms as he did so.

She landed softly on top of him while he took most of the hard fall, his head barely missing the edge of the table in the room. Christine found the courage to look up and found his eyes wide in bewilderment, staring down at her reddened, embarrassed face.

"I'm so sorry," she apologized, breaking herself free of his hold and rolling off of him. "I didn't mean to-"

"It's really you, isn't it?" he interrupted, sitting up himself. "Christine?"

She smiled, excited that he remembered her. "Yes," she replied.

He pulled her into a sudden embrace, tight and desperate to feel that she was real. "Oh, how I've _missed_ you."

Her heart faltered for a moment and she hugged him back, pulling him tighter against her, needing confirmation as much as he did.

He was the one to break away after several moments, pulling back to gaze at her once again. "Come," he said, standing. "Let's go to our secret spot."

Christine laughed as he took her by the hand, hurriedly pulling her along back through the maze of hallways and to the ladder that lead to the rafters. He waited for her to finish unclasping her heels before she started up and he took off behind her.

They stood again, side-by-side, looking down upon the unknowing people cleaning up the stage below them.

"You're still as unspeakably tall as I remember you," Christine teased.

Erik laughed. "And you're just as beautiful."

Christine blushed as she turned to him, finding his eyes ready to gaze back into hers. "I quite like this mask," she said. "At least it shows your eyes."

He chuckled and the gold of his irises glimmered for a moment. "The one part of me that is at least bearable to look at."

Christine frowned. "That's not true. Your lips."

He laughed once again, a laugh that seemed to sadden with every appearance it made. "My lips? Maybe. But only because they've been graced by an angel."

She smiled and brought her hand to the cheek of his mask, the pad of her thumb tracing along the golden line which twirled this way and that to form a lovely design down the side.

"I've missed you, Christine. Not a day has passed in my life that I haven't thought about you."

Christine laughed pitifully, shaking her head. "I wasn't even sure if you were real."

Erik laughed and his mask shifted, she imagined he was smiling. "I had my doubts about you as well, but I thought it better to at least pretend. It gave me a reason to live. At least one person saw me, stopped and listened."

Christine drew in her bottom lip as her free hand found his other cheek. "May I kiss you again? For old times sake?"

Erik gripped her wrists and held them tightly, but not bruisingly, and shut his eyes off from her viewing. "Allow me," he whispered.

She removed her hands and he placed his where hers had been, lifting his mask to the edge of his upper lip. His lips were the lips of a man's now, misshapen as ever but just as lovely as she remembered them. The mask revealed more of his face and she could see the sharp outline of his jaw and the beginning of his hollowed cheeks.

Again, she pressed forward, her kiss much more experienced than her last with him. She held there for a while until he pressed back, matching her pressure with his own, parting and departing again and again. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her close, feeling her better.

She tilted back to change the angle of the kiss, accidentally pushing up the edge of his mask. The band behind his head slipped, his mask flying up and back. He pulled away in an instant, whipping around before she could open her eyes and look upon his face.

Christine, startled by his urgent departure and breathless from his sweet kisses, opened her eyes to find him turned shaking and frantically searching for where his mask fell. She ran forward as he bent down, grabbing his arm before his fingertips could touch the face of it.

He stilled, turning his face before she could get a good look at the horror of it all. "Please, Erik," she begged. "Trust me."

Erik drew in a shuddering breath of air as he steeled himself to speak. " **I love you very much, probably more than anybody could love another person.** " He swallowed, shaking worse than a few moments before, a bundle of nerves before her eyes. "But I'm afraid, Christine. I'm so utterly afraid that I cannot be enough for you. And this face… I _know_ it is not good enough for you."

Christine managed a smile although it was sad. "Don't be, Erik. Don't be afraid. I love you too." He appeared calmed by her words, his body slowly losing its tremble. " **When I look at you, I can feel it. I look at you and I'm home."**

"Oh, Christine," he breathed disbelievingly.

"It's true, Erik. This is the first time in years that I've actually felt safe; like I'm meant to be. It may have been a long time since, but I still feel it. I feel what we had shared that day, and I've longed for it every day since, chased it and found nothing. I've been left with this emptiness, but now? Now that I'm with you? I can't feel that emptiness anymore." Christine was on the verge of tears trying to convince him. "I love you, Erik. It doesn't matter what you look like. I will still love you."

Erik turned carefully towards her, introducing his face slowly so as not to frighten her all at once. She took him in one detail at a time. She already knew his warped lips, his hollow cheeks; and now she knew his sunken eye sockets, the resemblance of death before her eyes.

Christine did not smile, barely breathed as she familiarized herself with his face. She stepped forward cautiously and he did not press back as he had before, allowing her to bring a gentle hand to his cheek. "I love you," she confirmed. "I love _all_ of you."

Erik brought a shaking hand to the back of her hand, lifting it from his cheek to his lips where he pressed a soft kiss into her palm. "I pray this is not a dream," he said, "Because then I'll have to convince myself that this too had happened."

They left back for his dressing room, locking the door as they undressed, gave themselves to one another, confirmed for themselves that it was real, and dressed again.

Christine fixed her hair in the mirror as he helped zip up the back of her dress. She hadn't expected any of this. The void that had been dug in her little heart over and over again with every exit the people she loved in her life had made was now sealed. The thought of it ripping back open before she could even allow herself to enjoy it for a few hours more horrified and saddened her.

" **I'm scared of walking out of this room and never feeling the rest of my whole life the way I feel when I'm with you,"** Christine brood aloud, knowing what awaited her outside the walls of the theatre.

"Then don't," Erik replied, hooking the eye of her dress. "Come with me, Christine. I am only a musician, one that never settles for too long in one place, but you can be happy with me. I will make sure of it."

Christine smiled and walked out, her hand in his, two hearts in tune with each other.


End file.
